Makeshift Kiss
Woo. First story!
Summary: A hunt for a frog leads to a lot more.
Genre: Romance, mystery
Show/Pairing: Lost/SawyerxBoone
Disclaimer: Lost ain’t mine. Story is.
Author Notes: Anniversary present for Rowan~ Hope you like.
You left me with a makeshift kiss,
A promise for this world I'd miss.
And if I could go back in time,
You'd still be here but you'd be mine.
-Damsel, Tragedy Andy
Sawyer had always hated animals. Ever since he had had a dog when he was four and it "ran away" a week after it destroyed a pair of his father's shoes, he had despised animals. He seemed to despise them so much that his idea of fun involved a truck full of cats and a BB-gun. So when he was so rudely awoken by the sound of a frog croaking, he wasn't pleased in the least.
After getting up and quickly contemplating getting the guns, only to realize how incredibly stupid the idea was, Sawyer headed towards the first person he saw. The person ended up being Ana Lucia, unfortunately.
"Hey, Hot Lips, wanna help me teh get rid of tha' frog?" he asked without hesitation.
The woman, who was sewing (or trying to, anyways, because by the looks of it, even Sawyer himself could do a better job) gave him a glance before rolling her eyes. "So you want help from me, after hoarding all the guns away?" Before he could walk away, she stated, "Sure." But as he began to smirk in that way that read he believed he had won, she added, "If you give me a gun."
Exactly twenty-three and a fourth seconds later, Sawyer was heading into the jungle by himself, grumbling underneath his breath. "Tha' bitch. I ask one fuckin' thin' and I get 'I need a gun. I saved yer life. I deserve one. I'm a whiny bitch who likes teh fuck guys with strap-ons and my fetish is teh fuck one with a gun,'" he complained to himself. Of course he was adding many words, but that didn't matter.
No one was in the jungle, oddly enough. This was most likely for the best, because if they had, Sawyer either would've kicked them in anger or made them help, as the croaking hit his ears again. He was sort of expecting to find at least one person though, but for the first time in ages, it was empty. He would've taken advantage of it if the frog hadn't kept making that annoying noise which made Sawyer want to make himself deaf.
"Gonna get tha' fuckin' toad," he muttered to himself, trying not to focus on the fact that a very familiar voice took that moment to speak up in his head and point out that even his sister knew it was a frog.
It took a good ten minutes of looking for Sawyer to finally find the frog. The croaks had been throwing themselves off trees and into random spots, echoing all together too much for his liking. He hadn't had a clue where to look anyways, as it seemed his animal finding skills at the moment were shut off.
He moved a few leaves, smirking as he found it. The frog was a bright orange with black curved into the colors, contrasting brightly with his hand. Free hand going back to grasp his knife, as he was ready to make this frog have the slowest death possible, he grasped it wrong and gave a hiss of pain as a deep cut was placed into his hand.
Pulling it quickly from his pocket, Sawyer glanced at the cut, and ended up placing the frog into his hurt hand but holding it carefully so he could still see the cut. "What the hell? Is my luck really that bad?" he muttered to himself.
A second later, he was dropping the frog and gasping in pain, his hand finding it's way between his knees in a defensive move. He had no clue what had happened but it hurt as if he had thrown alcohol onto it. "Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck," he chanted and as he spotted the frog, he quickly slammed his foot down on top of it. "Fuckin' thin' pro'ly has dirt all over it."
Still, dirt never normally hurt this much. It was still burning as he raised the hand to his face, able to see the cut. Blood had run from it down to his wrist, and was heading further, but he didn't pay attention to it.
Something felt odd. Sawyer wasn't sure what, but it just felt… different. His entire body felt slightly dizzy, and almost as if had drunken an entire bottle of Jack Daniels in record time, which wasn't that new of a feeling. Still, from a frog…
Balance off, he stumbled slightly before he grasped a tree, and blinked twice. "What the hell?" he asked again, but this time for a whole new reason. He had caught himself with his cut hand, and yet he felt no pain. Everything was so off that he found himself - surprisingly - thinking of getting Jack.
"Nah. The doctor can go fuck himself for all I care," he mumbled before he heard footsteps. Glancing up, Sawyer expected to find Hurley or Sun or Charlie or someone that he had seen in the past week, if not more, because he suddenly couldn't remember how many days they had been on the island for.
Words hit his ears, but they made no sense. Eyes darting around, Sawyer paid no attention to the fact that the colors of the jungle seemed off, some places saturated while others were drained completely, looking black and white.
"I'll only be a little while, okay?"
"You know this isn't allowed."
"I know. But I don't care. Go take advantage and haunt Sayid will you? Ow! It'll be fun! Stop hitting me. He deserves it! I never liked the guy. Fuck, stop hitting me!"
Hazel eyes darted around, and only seconds later did he find himself staring into cerulean eyes, ones he hadn't seen in so long. Sawyer knew there was another figure walking away, but his eyes couldn't move from the one in front of him. Dark hair, average height, slight muscles, that green shirt that he said had always reminded him of pea soup gone wrong, that facial hair he'd always found so incredibly sexy… It couldn't be.
"Boone?"
A smirk, and Sawyer knew he was going insane. It couldn't be. It couldn't be him, standing in the middle of the jungle without a scratch on him, other than a slight red right cheek and right arm.
"One and only." He walked slowly, and Sawyer noticed how jerky his movements were, especially with one of his legs. But he couldn't tell which, because something was so incredibly off with him right then that he could barely even remember his real name. He noticed how every time he stepped on one leg, he'd give the smallest wince, and as he got closer, he noticed the light scarring on his entire face and arms.
It was him. Sawyer couldn't breathe for a second, because the last time he'd seen him… it was too painful to even try to remember now.
"What do yeh want, Doc?" It's stupid. It's gotta be twelve at night and yet here Jack is, asking Sawyer to dig a hole. Well, not asking but commanding, and the doctor looks ready to break down. Maybe not that close, but he is pale, and it's obvious he's been crying.
"Dig me a grave. I would but I've given too much blood tonight to be able to even hold… that." He points then waves a finger at the thing Sawyer's holding, a piece of plane tied securely to a piece of wood, forming a make-shift shovel. Everyone calls it a shovel, so it leaves Sawyer confused why Jack can't just say the word.
But he has to ask. Something's wrong. A grave? It doesn't make sense. They didn't need a grave unless someone died, and the last thing he knew, Jack was fixing…
Shit.
Voice trembling slightly, he stops half-way through a shovel full of dirt and asks, "Who's the grave for?"
"Not that you'd care," Jack starts in that tone of voice that Sawyer normally takes pride in because it means he's irritated but today it just makes Sawyer feel sick, "But it's… Him. Shannon's brother." He points for the first time to a body that's situated behind them, that Sawyer hasn't noticed yet because of the dark shadows around them anywhere than where the torch that's placed into the ground isn't lighting up.
Sawyer's eyes dart to the body, and he stares at it for a second or two. He stares at the blood, at the wounds, at the way it looks like Boone's sleeping like he always does after the two of them are together, and he loses it. He knows the name isn't coming to the doctor because of the blood he's given up, the blood he's donated in an attempt to save Boone, the blood he hadn't even hesitated giving, but he can't help the angry tone in his voice, and the hatred in his eyes for the way Jack couldn't save him. "It's Boone, yeh son of a bitch. Can't even remember a fuckin' name of someone yeh killed?" Next thing Sawyer knows, the shovel's on the ground and he's storming into the jungle.
Not more than five seconds of entering it alone does he break down, hands going to pull angrily at his hair, body dropping to the ground, resting on his knees, head falling to the cold earth that Boone'll soon be put in.
The memory almost made Sawyer stop moving all together, because it was too much to remember that Boone was dead. That is dead because even on a fucked up island like the one they were on, one can't come back to life.
Then he realized he needed to move. He needed to touch the other so his hand could go right through him like it would with an illusion. So he took a few steps forward, only to lose his balance, and to be roughly caught by the other. That was all he needed to know that this couldn't be an illusion, because not only could he feel him, he was grabbed by him and kept from hitting the ground.
"It isn't you. You're dead. It can't--" His words were silenced as he felt the familiar feeling of the man's lips against his own, and he desperately kissed back, because this couldn't be happening. He knew it wasn't, he knew it had to be a dream, but right then, he was going to take advantage of it.
He needed to take advantage of it.
Hands moving, it only took a few seconds for Boone to be pressed against a tree, Sawyer's fingers desperately pulling at the jean button and zipper, Boone's smaller ones undoing the buttons of Sawyer's button-down shirt. The kiss was never broken, even as Sawyer found himself needing air so desperately. But the other didn't need it, he decided, so he didn't either. Still, when he broke the kiss to quickly kiss at the pale neck, he heard Boone panting for breath just as deeply as he was, his lungs most likely screaming for air just as loud as his own.
"Missed you," one of them whispered, but neither knew whom had said it, even as Sawyer broke the contact to tug off Boone's shirt. His slid down his arms before hitting the earth beneath their feet, and yet he paid no attention, because he knew that the time was limited. That wasn't the most terrifying part, though. What was was the fact that no matter who had said those two simple words, they both meant them.
Lips finding the other's again, teeth clashed briefly as tongue ran over each other's. Normally they'd have time to focus on every small detail, to make this perfect, but the moment was so overdue. They had deserved it for so long, ever since Sawyer had spoken his last words of, 'Same time, tomorrow, right?' to Boone while tugging on his blue jeans.
Now they were being tugged off as the boots were kicked off, and down came the other's pants too, the boxers ready to follow until Sawyer noticed what pair they were. "Yer still wearin' 'em, I see," he murmured quietly, before he smirked the smallest bit. A point to Boone's boxers later got him an identical smirk on the other man's lips.
They were a simplistic blue, that were a size too big, just resting on the slightly scarred hips. It was obvious they were too large, as the cloth was baggier than it should've been, and the ends reached too far down Boone's legs, but Sawyer thought they looked fine, if not better.
The grin turned to a smirk eventually and the words, "Wore them just for you. Maybe I'll give them back this time," were whispered. Both knew it wouldn't happen though.
"Boone!" comes a deep yell, one the man is all too familiar with. It is one he doesn't mind on most occasions, but once in a while, it annoys him beyond belief. This is one of those times. It just doesn't have the same ring as when Sawyer says it.
Standing up quickly, the young man looks to Sawyer before he sighs. "It's Locke." The two words are unneeded though, because the voice is recognizable, unable to be forgotten, just like how one can never forget the sound of nails on a chalkboard.
A sour looks finds its way onto Sawyer's face as he stands from the make-shift bed on the ground. It's a simple blanket strewn across the grass, but it's more comfortable than nothing. The look stays, as he hasn't yet come, but he knows there's no way he can now. The sound of that voice, even if Boone tells Locke to get the fuck out of there (he won't, though. He's way too whipped for that) makes it so he can't get hard for a few hours. It could do it to anyone.
They hadn't been rushing, as the darkness of the night had ensured that there was no possible way they could undress quickly without hitting each other in someway that would completely ruin the mood. Now Sawyer wishes they had just tried to, because he's left to grab the nearest pieces of clothing as the sounds of footsteps come nearer.
Neither notice in the rush that they are wearing the wrong garments. If they had, there would've been no time to change anyway, because only seconds after they're on and covered by pants, a figure is walking through the jungle while tossing a knife in his hand for entertainment. Sawyer hates that tiny little knowing smirk, and decides one day, he'll knock it off of him.
Since that day, neither had switched the boxers, liking the feel. It didn't matter that one pair was too small and another was too large; the fact that the clothing wasn't their own but the other's was enough to make it more comfortable than they could've imagined.
"Tha's good," Sawyer murmured before he realized how much time they were most likely wasting. They didn't have time to waste, just like always. He shouldn't have known that, but something was telling him that they had less than thirty minutes, if they were lucky, and then the other would be gone.
It only took about five more seconds for them to undress completely, clothes thrown along the ground. Sawyer's hand started to raise to his mouth before he stopped, looking at Boone with a slightly wondering look.
The first time they had been together, Sawyer had completely skipped foreplay. The second time, he'd tried again, before Boone had stated that if he didn't at least touch him once before fucking him, then it'd be the last time he fucked him, ever. Now Sawyer seemed a bit worried about doing anything without foreplay first.
"Go ahead. Don't have time," Boone murmured.
Three fingers found their way between Sawyer's lips, wetting them briefly with his tongue. He barely noticed the hint of dirt on them, because the last thing they had time for was washing them to do this. He'd taken more disgusting things into his mouth than a bit of dirt, most of which were done for scams.
A sharp gasp was heard as a slick finger pressed into Boone, before another digit followed. Thankfully the man was leaning against the tree, and was able to put most of his weight against it.
It had been so long. He knew it'd be a lot longer until the next time, if there was even a next time, yet he didn't care. The other memories of them together were starting to fade, as he'd never focused on them enough to keep them stuck in his mind. He could cling to this one though, for as long as he needed.
The preparation didn't take long, Sawyer's movements quick and needy. When his fingers pulled out, much too slowly for both of them truthfully, he brushed them against Boone's prostate and smirked as the man jerked slightly, gasping loudly.
He quickly spat into his hand to get more saliva on it before running it along with cock twice, and he realized just how much he needed the other. The two simple jerks made his legs nearly buckle, and he had to focus on not letting that happen. That'd be a pleasant mood-ruiner.
A quick movement was all it took for Sawyer's cock to be completely encased in the tight heat, and for Boone to be gasping loudly, a mix of pain and pleasure showing on his face. It would've been visible in his eyes too, had he not closed them tightly as soon as he felt the slightest bit of pressure.
Sawyer took a few deep breaths to keep himself from coming right then - it'd been way too long, even if it had only been nine days. That was nine days too much, and he didn't realize until that second how much he had needed the other.
After just a few seconds, Boone pressed down lightly against Sawyer. That brought forth a tiny noise from the older man's lips before he pulled his hips back a few inches and moved back in. Normally the movements would've been slow and calculated, trying to get them to last as long as possible. Today they were quick, as if he were already on the edge.
Neither seemed to mind as Boone's head came to rest back against the tree, eyes closed tightly. Each movement seemed to make a tiny noise escape from his lips, whether it be a moan, a cry, a gasp or even a grunt. For once, he didn't try to keep them quiet, not caring if Sawyer thought the entire island could hear them.
His back was hurting, though. That was something Boone noticed, the tree bark grating against it. Somehow, he was able to ignore it to cling his legs around Sawyer's hips a tiny bit tighter, and gasped out as the other's hard-on pressed in deeper than before thanks to the tiny movement.
The last thing Sawyer had been expecting was Boone to help him. Still, he suddenly felt Boone pressing quickly down against him, and he could feel himself strike that spot. A tiny noise escaped his throat, before he looked at Boone who was panting quietly while trying to press down harder.
"Sawyer, almost there," he whispered. It wasn't just a statement, but a desperate plea. One thing they had both learned was that Boone needed at least one stroke to get him to come. And the way Boone currently had to keep his arms around Sawyer's neck to keep him up made it impossible to touch himself.
Smirking slightly, that made the southern get a devilish idea. While he could never hold out if he was bottoming (which didn't happen that often because he didn't have enough control), he could hold out for a while if he was the one pummeling into another. "Guess I'll have teh do somethin' 'bout that then, right?"
Boone wasn't very happy with the remark, because the way Sawyer had said it, it made him know for a fact that the man was up to no good. The smirk that he had on his lips and the tone in his voice showed that. Great. Then he learned what the man was planning. Each movement made him feel like he was coming for a brief second before it disappeared and left him so close to the edge that he was going mad. Every thrust brought a cry, a desperate one that showed how much Boone needed to fall over the edge. And yet it didn't happen, because Sawyer couldn't find himself wanting to help Boone with that, instead keeping his hands under the man to hold him up.
In, out, in, out. It was a quick, steady rhythm that made Boone's head spin and the pain somehow feel okay, pleasant even, as his entire body seemed to light on fire. It burned with need, and he found himself on the edge of begging. An especially hard thrust to his prostate made his hips buck down, moving his legs a bit, and he felt a bit more pain as the previously injured one locked up against Sawyer's hip. "Sawyer!" he cried out, half angry, half desperate.
Still, Sawyer wasn't doing anything to get him off, so Boone took matters into his own hands, so to speak. He still couldn't let go to jerk himself off but he clenched, hard, down on Sawyer as he pulled out and smirked slightly when the man gasped loudly. The smirk disappeared as he felt the other coming into him.
He had been close, and had been planning to bring Boone to the edge in only a few thrusts. That simple clench around him though had brought him over the edge unexpectedly, making him still as the waves of pleasure crashed over him, so unpredicted that he found his breath disappearing from his lungs.
Realizing his chance to come with Sawyer was slipping away, the younger male gave up his cling to balance to bring his hand to himself and give a quick jerk. A second later, he could feel his balls tightening in that oh-so familiar way before he was covering both his and Sawyer's chests and stomachs with a cry of the other's name.
Sadly, it seemed that the grip was needed, because Boone found himself only moments later on the ground, resting half way on Sawyer. He had ended up falling to the left, dragging Sawyer down with him, but he wasn't sure how he'd managed to fall on top. It didn't really matter though, because he could get back at the other now. Moving his hips up and then down quickly, he smirked as he watched Sawyer grit his teeth in a bit of pain. "Serves you right," he murmured before pulling himself up to get Sawyer out of him.
The older man, having just came a few seconds before, was way too sensitive to deal with a movement like that. He glared to Boone before saying, "Yeh impatien' idiot. If yeh had waited ten fuckin' seconds, I woulda jerked yeh off."
"But this was more fun." He moved to rest his head on Sawyer's chest and smirked as the other rolled his eyes, and watched him silently. It took about five minutes of the two just lying like that for Sawyer to eventually fall asleep.
Moving slowly, Boone got his leg to work again before grabbing Sawyer's pants and slowly redressing him so no one would find him naked. Thankfully, he was exhausted.
When Sawyer's eyes opened, it was dark, and he could hear someone laughing. Sitting up, he found his head spinning and looked down briefly to find his jeans having a wet spot in the great. Great.
A British accent hit his ears, and he looked up to see Charlie standing there, looking amused.
"I don't know about you, mate, but I haven't had a wet dream since I was sixteen. Especially not in the middle of a bloody jungle with nothing to sleep on. What'd you do? Fall over? Amusing, it--" When he got a glare, he stopped talking but the laughs didn't end.
"Hey, Druggie, why don't yeh fuck off?" He couldn't even get a good insult out from his head spinning so much. A glance down at his hand showed it was still cut, and another glance to the ground made him see the frog he had squished. Right.
Charlie ended up rolling his eyes before walking off, muttering something about how he should be getting Kate to see this just to make the woman laugh. That would be fun.
It took a few minutes for Sawyer to find his balance fully and to get back to camp, thankfully able to get back to his tent without anyone noticing. When he got there, he noticed a bit of blue from the corner of his eye, and found himself stunned to his spot as he saw his pair of blue boxers resting on the top of the tent.
"Son of a bitch."
He glanced around with a confused look before walking into his tent and stuffing the boxers into a bag. For some reason, he was a bit happier now, and eventually changed pants to an identical pair, minus the come stain on the front. As he came from his tent, he was humming a tune, while looking around the beach.
Upon seeing Locke, he smirked and headed quickly over towards the man. "Hey, Locke, I got somethin' in my hand teh show yeh," he spoke before wishing the man would get that knowing grin on his face back. It was going to be hard hitting it off of him if it wasn't there, but he'd try.
AN: So, yeah. I wrote it so you don't know if he's back or not. Tell me what you think~ 'cause there's hints both ways.
Summary: A hunt for a frog leads to a lot more.
Genre: Romance, mystery
Show/Pairing: Lost/SawyerxBoone
Disclaimer: Lost ain’t mine. Story is.
Author Notes: Anniversary present for Rowan~ Hope you like.
You left me with a makeshift kiss,
A promise for this world I'd miss.
And if I could go back in time,
You'd still be here but you'd be mine.
-Damsel, Tragedy Andy
Sawyer had always hated animals. Ever since he had had a dog when he was four and it "ran away" a week after it destroyed a pair of his father's shoes, he had despised animals. He seemed to despise them so much that his idea of fun involved a truck full of cats and a BB-gun. So when he was so rudely awoken by the sound of a frog croaking, he wasn't pleased in the least.
After getting up and quickly contemplating getting the guns, only to realize how incredibly stupid the idea was, Sawyer headed towards the first person he saw. The person ended up being Ana Lucia, unfortunately.
"Hey, Hot Lips, wanna help me teh get rid of tha' frog?" he asked without hesitation.
The woman, who was sewing (or trying to, anyways, because by the looks of it, even Sawyer himself could do a better job) gave him a glance before rolling her eyes. "So you want help from me, after hoarding all the guns away?" Before he could walk away, she stated, "Sure." But as he began to smirk in that way that read he believed he had won, she added, "If you give me a gun."
Exactly twenty-three and a fourth seconds later, Sawyer was heading into the jungle by himself, grumbling underneath his breath. "Tha' bitch. I ask one fuckin' thin' and I get 'I need a gun. I saved yer life. I deserve one. I'm a whiny bitch who likes teh fuck guys with strap-ons and my fetish is teh fuck one with a gun,'" he complained to himself. Of course he was adding many words, but that didn't matter.
No one was in the jungle, oddly enough. This was most likely for the best, because if they had, Sawyer either would've kicked them in anger or made them help, as the croaking hit his ears again. He was sort of expecting to find at least one person though, but for the first time in ages, it was empty. He would've taken advantage of it if the frog hadn't kept making that annoying noise which made Sawyer want to make himself deaf.
"Gonna get tha' fuckin' toad," he muttered to himself, trying not to focus on the fact that a very familiar voice took that moment to speak up in his head and point out that even his sister knew it was a frog.
It took a good ten minutes of looking for Sawyer to finally find the frog. The croaks had been throwing themselves off trees and into random spots, echoing all together too much for his liking. He hadn't had a clue where to look anyways, as it seemed his animal finding skills at the moment were shut off.
He moved a few leaves, smirking as he found it. The frog was a bright orange with black curved into the colors, contrasting brightly with his hand. Free hand going back to grasp his knife, as he was ready to make this frog have the slowest death possible, he grasped it wrong and gave a hiss of pain as a deep cut was placed into his hand.
Pulling it quickly from his pocket, Sawyer glanced at the cut, and ended up placing the frog into his hurt hand but holding it carefully so he could still see the cut. "What the hell? Is my luck really that bad?" he muttered to himself.
A second later, he was dropping the frog and gasping in pain, his hand finding it's way between his knees in a defensive move. He had no clue what had happened but it hurt as if he had thrown alcohol onto it. "Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck," he chanted and as he spotted the frog, he quickly slammed his foot down on top of it. "Fuckin' thin' pro'ly has dirt all over it."
Still, dirt never normally hurt this much. It was still burning as he raised the hand to his face, able to see the cut. Blood had run from it down to his wrist, and was heading further, but he didn't pay attention to it.
Something felt odd. Sawyer wasn't sure what, but it just felt… different. His entire body felt slightly dizzy, and almost as if had drunken an entire bottle of Jack Daniels in record time, which wasn't that new of a feeling. Still, from a frog…
Balance off, he stumbled slightly before he grasped a tree, and blinked twice. "What the hell?" he asked again, but this time for a whole new reason. He had caught himself with his cut hand, and yet he felt no pain. Everything was so off that he found himself - surprisingly - thinking of getting Jack.
"Nah. The doctor can go fuck himself for all I care," he mumbled before he heard footsteps. Glancing up, Sawyer expected to find Hurley or Sun or Charlie or someone that he had seen in the past week, if not more, because he suddenly couldn't remember how many days they had been on the island for.
Words hit his ears, but they made no sense. Eyes darting around, Sawyer paid no attention to the fact that the colors of the jungle seemed off, some places saturated while others were drained completely, looking black and white.
"I'll only be a little while, okay?"
"You know this isn't allowed."
"I know. But I don't care. Go take advantage and haunt Sayid will you? Ow! It'll be fun! Stop hitting me. He deserves it! I never liked the guy. Fuck, stop hitting me!"
Hazel eyes darted around, and only seconds later did he find himself staring into cerulean eyes, ones he hadn't seen in so long. Sawyer knew there was another figure walking away, but his eyes couldn't move from the one in front of him. Dark hair, average height, slight muscles, that green shirt that he said had always reminded him of pea soup gone wrong, that facial hair he'd always found so incredibly sexy… It couldn't be.
"Boone?"
A smirk, and Sawyer knew he was going insane. It couldn't be. It couldn't be him, standing in the middle of the jungle without a scratch on him, other than a slight red right cheek and right arm.
"One and only." He walked slowly, and Sawyer noticed how jerky his movements were, especially with one of his legs. But he couldn't tell which, because something was so incredibly off with him right then that he could barely even remember his real name. He noticed how every time he stepped on one leg, he'd give the smallest wince, and as he got closer, he noticed the light scarring on his entire face and arms.
It was him. Sawyer couldn't breathe for a second, because the last time he'd seen him… it was too painful to even try to remember now.
"What do yeh want, Doc?" It's stupid. It's gotta be twelve at night and yet here Jack is, asking Sawyer to dig a hole. Well, not asking but commanding, and the doctor looks ready to break down. Maybe not that close, but he is pale, and it's obvious he's been crying.
"Dig me a grave. I would but I've given too much blood tonight to be able to even hold… that." He points then waves a finger at the thing Sawyer's holding, a piece of plane tied securely to a piece of wood, forming a make-shift shovel. Everyone calls it a shovel, so it leaves Sawyer confused why Jack can't just say the word.
But he has to ask. Something's wrong. A grave? It doesn't make sense. They didn't need a grave unless someone died, and the last thing he knew, Jack was fixing…
Shit.
Voice trembling slightly, he stops half-way through a shovel full of dirt and asks, "Who's the grave for?"
"Not that you'd care," Jack starts in that tone of voice that Sawyer normally takes pride in because it means he's irritated but today it just makes Sawyer feel sick, "But it's… Him. Shannon's brother." He points for the first time to a body that's situated behind them, that Sawyer hasn't noticed yet because of the dark shadows around them anywhere than where the torch that's placed into the ground isn't lighting up.
Sawyer's eyes dart to the body, and he stares at it for a second or two. He stares at the blood, at the wounds, at the way it looks like Boone's sleeping like he always does after the two of them are together, and he loses it. He knows the name isn't coming to the doctor because of the blood he's given up, the blood he's donated in an attempt to save Boone, the blood he hadn't even hesitated giving, but he can't help the angry tone in his voice, and the hatred in his eyes for the way Jack couldn't save him. "It's Boone, yeh son of a bitch. Can't even remember a fuckin' name of someone yeh killed?" Next thing Sawyer knows, the shovel's on the ground and he's storming into the jungle.
Not more than five seconds of entering it alone does he break down, hands going to pull angrily at his hair, body dropping to the ground, resting on his knees, head falling to the cold earth that Boone'll soon be put in.
The memory almost made Sawyer stop moving all together, because it was too much to remember that Boone was dead. That is dead because even on a fucked up island like the one they were on, one can't come back to life.
Then he realized he needed to move. He needed to touch the other so his hand could go right through him like it would with an illusion. So he took a few steps forward, only to lose his balance, and to be roughly caught by the other. That was all he needed to know that this couldn't be an illusion, because not only could he feel him, he was grabbed by him and kept from hitting the ground.
"It isn't you. You're dead. It can't--" His words were silenced as he felt the familiar feeling of the man's lips against his own, and he desperately kissed back, because this couldn't be happening. He knew it wasn't, he knew it had to be a dream, but right then, he was going to take advantage of it.
He needed to take advantage of it.
Hands moving, it only took a few seconds for Boone to be pressed against a tree, Sawyer's fingers desperately pulling at the jean button and zipper, Boone's smaller ones undoing the buttons of Sawyer's button-down shirt. The kiss was never broken, even as Sawyer found himself needing air so desperately. But the other didn't need it, he decided, so he didn't either. Still, when he broke the kiss to quickly kiss at the pale neck, he heard Boone panting for breath just as deeply as he was, his lungs most likely screaming for air just as loud as his own.
"Missed you," one of them whispered, but neither knew whom had said it, even as Sawyer broke the contact to tug off Boone's shirt. His slid down his arms before hitting the earth beneath their feet, and yet he paid no attention, because he knew that the time was limited. That wasn't the most terrifying part, though. What was was the fact that no matter who had said those two simple words, they both meant them.
Lips finding the other's again, teeth clashed briefly as tongue ran over each other's. Normally they'd have time to focus on every small detail, to make this perfect, but the moment was so overdue. They had deserved it for so long, ever since Sawyer had spoken his last words of, 'Same time, tomorrow, right?' to Boone while tugging on his blue jeans.
Now they were being tugged off as the boots were kicked off, and down came the other's pants too, the boxers ready to follow until Sawyer noticed what pair they were. "Yer still wearin' 'em, I see," he murmured quietly, before he smirked the smallest bit. A point to Boone's boxers later got him an identical smirk on the other man's lips.
They were a simplistic blue, that were a size too big, just resting on the slightly scarred hips. It was obvious they were too large, as the cloth was baggier than it should've been, and the ends reached too far down Boone's legs, but Sawyer thought they looked fine, if not better.
The grin turned to a smirk eventually and the words, "Wore them just for you. Maybe I'll give them back this time," were whispered. Both knew it wouldn't happen though.
"Boone!" comes a deep yell, one the man is all too familiar with. It is one he doesn't mind on most occasions, but once in a while, it annoys him beyond belief. This is one of those times. It just doesn't have the same ring as when Sawyer says it.
Standing up quickly, the young man looks to Sawyer before he sighs. "It's Locke." The two words are unneeded though, because the voice is recognizable, unable to be forgotten, just like how one can never forget the sound of nails on a chalkboard.
A sour looks finds its way onto Sawyer's face as he stands from the make-shift bed on the ground. It's a simple blanket strewn across the grass, but it's more comfortable than nothing. The look stays, as he hasn't yet come, but he knows there's no way he can now. The sound of that voice, even if Boone tells Locke to get the fuck out of there (he won't, though. He's way too whipped for that) makes it so he can't get hard for a few hours. It could do it to anyone.
They hadn't been rushing, as the darkness of the night had ensured that there was no possible way they could undress quickly without hitting each other in someway that would completely ruin the mood. Now Sawyer wishes they had just tried to, because he's left to grab the nearest pieces of clothing as the sounds of footsteps come nearer.
Neither notice in the rush that they are wearing the wrong garments. If they had, there would've been no time to change anyway, because only seconds after they're on and covered by pants, a figure is walking through the jungle while tossing a knife in his hand for entertainment. Sawyer hates that tiny little knowing smirk, and decides one day, he'll knock it off of him.
Since that day, neither had switched the boxers, liking the feel. It didn't matter that one pair was too small and another was too large; the fact that the clothing wasn't their own but the other's was enough to make it more comfortable than they could've imagined.
"Tha's good," Sawyer murmured before he realized how much time they were most likely wasting. They didn't have time to waste, just like always. He shouldn't have known that, but something was telling him that they had less than thirty minutes, if they were lucky, and then the other would be gone.
It only took about five more seconds for them to undress completely, clothes thrown along the ground. Sawyer's hand started to raise to his mouth before he stopped, looking at Boone with a slightly wondering look.
The first time they had been together, Sawyer had completely skipped foreplay. The second time, he'd tried again, before Boone had stated that if he didn't at least touch him once before fucking him, then it'd be the last time he fucked him, ever. Now Sawyer seemed a bit worried about doing anything without foreplay first.
"Go ahead. Don't have time," Boone murmured.
Three fingers found their way between Sawyer's lips, wetting them briefly with his tongue. He barely noticed the hint of dirt on them, because the last thing they had time for was washing them to do this. He'd taken more disgusting things into his mouth than a bit of dirt, most of which were done for scams.
A sharp gasp was heard as a slick finger pressed into Boone, before another digit followed. Thankfully the man was leaning against the tree, and was able to put most of his weight against it.
It had been so long. He knew it'd be a lot longer until the next time, if there was even a next time, yet he didn't care. The other memories of them together were starting to fade, as he'd never focused on them enough to keep them stuck in his mind. He could cling to this one though, for as long as he needed.
The preparation didn't take long, Sawyer's movements quick and needy. When his fingers pulled out, much too slowly for both of them truthfully, he brushed them against Boone's prostate and smirked as the man jerked slightly, gasping loudly.
He quickly spat into his hand to get more saliva on it before running it along with cock twice, and he realized just how much he needed the other. The two simple jerks made his legs nearly buckle, and he had to focus on not letting that happen. That'd be a pleasant mood-ruiner.
A quick movement was all it took for Sawyer's cock to be completely encased in the tight heat, and for Boone to be gasping loudly, a mix of pain and pleasure showing on his face. It would've been visible in his eyes too, had he not closed them tightly as soon as he felt the slightest bit of pressure.
Sawyer took a few deep breaths to keep himself from coming right then - it'd been way too long, even if it had only been nine days. That was nine days too much, and he didn't realize until that second how much he had needed the other.
After just a few seconds, Boone pressed down lightly against Sawyer. That brought forth a tiny noise from the older man's lips before he pulled his hips back a few inches and moved back in. Normally the movements would've been slow and calculated, trying to get them to last as long as possible. Today they were quick, as if he were already on the edge.
Neither seemed to mind as Boone's head came to rest back against the tree, eyes closed tightly. Each movement seemed to make a tiny noise escape from his lips, whether it be a moan, a cry, a gasp or even a grunt. For once, he didn't try to keep them quiet, not caring if Sawyer thought the entire island could hear them.
His back was hurting, though. That was something Boone noticed, the tree bark grating against it. Somehow, he was able to ignore it to cling his legs around Sawyer's hips a tiny bit tighter, and gasped out as the other's hard-on pressed in deeper than before thanks to the tiny movement.
The last thing Sawyer had been expecting was Boone to help him. Still, he suddenly felt Boone pressing quickly down against him, and he could feel himself strike that spot. A tiny noise escaped his throat, before he looked at Boone who was panting quietly while trying to press down harder.
"Sawyer, almost there," he whispered. It wasn't just a statement, but a desperate plea. One thing they had both learned was that Boone needed at least one stroke to get him to come. And the way Boone currently had to keep his arms around Sawyer's neck to keep him up made it impossible to touch himself.
Smirking slightly, that made the southern get a devilish idea. While he could never hold out if he was bottoming (which didn't happen that often because he didn't have enough control), he could hold out for a while if he was the one pummeling into another. "Guess I'll have teh do somethin' 'bout that then, right?"
Boone wasn't very happy with the remark, because the way Sawyer had said it, it made him know for a fact that the man was up to no good. The smirk that he had on his lips and the tone in his voice showed that. Great. Then he learned what the man was planning. Each movement made him feel like he was coming for a brief second before it disappeared and left him so close to the edge that he was going mad. Every thrust brought a cry, a desperate one that showed how much Boone needed to fall over the edge. And yet it didn't happen, because Sawyer couldn't find himself wanting to help Boone with that, instead keeping his hands under the man to hold him up.
In, out, in, out. It was a quick, steady rhythm that made Boone's head spin and the pain somehow feel okay, pleasant even, as his entire body seemed to light on fire. It burned with need, and he found himself on the edge of begging. An especially hard thrust to his prostate made his hips buck down, moving his legs a bit, and he felt a bit more pain as the previously injured one locked up against Sawyer's hip. "Sawyer!" he cried out, half angry, half desperate.
Still, Sawyer wasn't doing anything to get him off, so Boone took matters into his own hands, so to speak. He still couldn't let go to jerk himself off but he clenched, hard, down on Sawyer as he pulled out and smirked slightly when the man gasped loudly. The smirk disappeared as he felt the other coming into him.
He had been close, and had been planning to bring Boone to the edge in only a few thrusts. That simple clench around him though had brought him over the edge unexpectedly, making him still as the waves of pleasure crashed over him, so unpredicted that he found his breath disappearing from his lungs.
Realizing his chance to come with Sawyer was slipping away, the younger male gave up his cling to balance to bring his hand to himself and give a quick jerk. A second later, he could feel his balls tightening in that oh-so familiar way before he was covering both his and Sawyer's chests and stomachs with a cry of the other's name.
Sadly, it seemed that the grip was needed, because Boone found himself only moments later on the ground, resting half way on Sawyer. He had ended up falling to the left, dragging Sawyer down with him, but he wasn't sure how he'd managed to fall on top. It didn't really matter though, because he could get back at the other now. Moving his hips up and then down quickly, he smirked as he watched Sawyer grit his teeth in a bit of pain. "Serves you right," he murmured before pulling himself up to get Sawyer out of him.
The older man, having just came a few seconds before, was way too sensitive to deal with a movement like that. He glared to Boone before saying, "Yeh impatien' idiot. If yeh had waited ten fuckin' seconds, I woulda jerked yeh off."
"But this was more fun." He moved to rest his head on Sawyer's chest and smirked as the other rolled his eyes, and watched him silently. It took about five minutes of the two just lying like that for Sawyer to eventually fall asleep.
Moving slowly, Boone got his leg to work again before grabbing Sawyer's pants and slowly redressing him so no one would find him naked. Thankfully, he was exhausted.
When Sawyer's eyes opened, it was dark, and he could hear someone laughing. Sitting up, he found his head spinning and looked down briefly to find his jeans having a wet spot in the great. Great.
A British accent hit his ears, and he looked up to see Charlie standing there, looking amused.
"I don't know about you, mate, but I haven't had a wet dream since I was sixteen. Especially not in the middle of a bloody jungle with nothing to sleep on. What'd you do? Fall over? Amusing, it--" When he got a glare, he stopped talking but the laughs didn't end.
"Hey, Druggie, why don't yeh fuck off?" He couldn't even get a good insult out from his head spinning so much. A glance down at his hand showed it was still cut, and another glance to the ground made him see the frog he had squished. Right.
Charlie ended up rolling his eyes before walking off, muttering something about how he should be getting Kate to see this just to make the woman laugh. That would be fun.
It took a few minutes for Sawyer to find his balance fully and to get back to camp, thankfully able to get back to his tent without anyone noticing. When he got there, he noticed a bit of blue from the corner of his eye, and found himself stunned to his spot as he saw his pair of blue boxers resting on the top of the tent.
"Son of a bitch."
He glanced around with a confused look before walking into his tent and stuffing the boxers into a bag. For some reason, he was a bit happier now, and eventually changed pants to an identical pair, minus the come stain on the front. As he came from his tent, he was humming a tune, while looking around the beach.
Upon seeing Locke, he smirked and headed quickly over towards the man. "Hey, Locke, I got somethin' in my hand teh show yeh," he spoke before wishing the man would get that knowing grin on his face back. It was going to be hard hitting it off of him if it wasn't there, but he'd try.
AN: So, yeah. I wrote it so you don't know if he's back or not. Tell me what you think~ 'cause there's hints both ways.